


Cold Heart

by thesynapticsnap



Series: Black Celebration [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: BlackIce, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-21
Updated: 2013-02-21
Packaged: 2017-12-03 03:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/693686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesynapticsnap/pseuds/thesynapticsnap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack thinks of Pitch as a father. Pitch isn’t sure what he thinks of Jack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Heart

The nights Pitch grew tired, he was reluctant to admit it even to himself. When he had brought the spry, young spirit of winter into his world, he realized just how worn the millennia had left him. Jack seemed never to need rest, no matter how many dreams they had infected with the blackness of nightmares, nor how many sunsets and subsequent sunrises they witnessed. Jack bounded from dream to dream and city to city as if they were one in the same. It took all of Pitch’s power just to keep up.

The boy had proven himself an apt student, and an eager one at that. Though at times Pitch doubted his resolution to augment the power of darkness with his talents, Jack always came through when it was time to spread nightmares. Oftentimes it puzzled the elder spirit as to how such a young, innocent, and happy boy could warp the dreams of children so effectively. He was so unlike what he had been before joining Pitch, but during the lapses in their duties, Jack returned to being a mischievous and playful spirit. In those times he was once again the boy that the Nightmare King had watched at a distance and thought incapable of the sort of terrifying conjurations his apprentice managed.

He let Jack alone when he was in one of his ‘moods’, flitting about without care and laughing unabashedly. It did no harm to let the boy smile, and if Pitch were being truthful, the sight of the boy so happy in his presence, that smile so often directed toward him, was welcome to one who had gone without notice for so very long.

One evening late into their work, Pitch could go no further, and there was no more will left in him to pretend otherwise. Jack had perched on the windowsill of a bedroom, looking out at an expanse of stars that spilled across the sky as he waited for Pitch to finish shaping the nightmare of the child within the room. When Pitch rested a hand against the boy’s shoulder, Jack craned his neck and looked up at his mentor expectantly.

“Where to next?” he asked, rocking back on his feet to rest his head against Pitch’s stomach.

“Home,” Pitch said wearily, moving his hand from Jack’s shoulder to cradle the boy’s head. “I am tired, Jack. Surely you must be as well.”

“Tired?” Jack smiled up at him, rolling his eyes. “I never get tired, old man.”

Pitch dropped his hand, and watched Jack topple backward onto the floor. The boy laughed when the shock had passed, and he gave the other a playful smirk.

“I’m just kidding, you know.”

“I know,” Pitch grumbled. “I do not have time for play, Jack. I have lived a great deal longer than you, and if you ever wish to see yourself at such an age you will stop ‘kidding’ and return home to rest.”

Jack protested with a few exaggerated sighs and more jabs at Pitch’s age, but followed Pitch without question when his mentor started for home. By the time they were safely returned, he was somewhat quieted (for once), and even Pitch had to chuckle. So the boy had been more exhausted than he cared to admit, judging from the way his eyes were beginning to hood and how his shoulders slouched as he dragged himself at Pitch’s heels.

Pitch paused when he reached the door that led to Jack’s chambers, the boy at his heels so tired he stumbled into the taller man before he realized where they were.

“Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting,” Jack mumbled, yawning. He made for the handle of the door and Pitch was about to depart when he noticed Jack was still, as if awaiting something.

“Jack?”

Jack looked up at him, rocking slowly from side to side on his feet. Even as tired as he apparently was, he couldn’t resist fidgeting.

“Could I…I know this is stupid, but… could I get a goodnight hug?”

Pitch furrowed his brow in confusion, merely staring at Jack for a long moment. He awaited a sly grin from the boy to indicate he’d been attempting a joke, but when Jack’s expression remained resolute Pitch let his brow relax and turned away.

“Goodnight Jack,” he said stiffly, swirling his robes about him and heading for his own chambers. He heard the faint click of the door to Jack’s room opening and closing softly behind him.

Pitch lay awake in his bed for a long while, his prior exhaustion vanished by a mere few words from his young apprentice. Jack had never made such a request before. Though they touched frequently by means of congratulatory squeezes on the shoulder or playful motions from Jack, he had never shared something as intimate as an embrace with the boy. The suggestion had immediately filled him with anger and annoyance, though he could not name a reason. The more he mused on the idea, the more strange it seemed to him that he would turn down such a request. There was just something about the way Jack looked at him so expectantly, awaiting Pitch’s assurance and comfort, that made his gut twist. It was as if he had been called to do the same for another long ago and failed, and Jack was mocking him, beckoning him to fail yet again. He knew it foolish to believe that about the boy, and even felt remorse for denying him, but his pride would not let him return to Jack’s chambers and apologize. He rolled over and closed his eyes, giving into exhaustion so he would not need to face such petty, troublesome emotions.

Later that night, or perhaps a hundred nights after he had laid to rest, Pitch was made aware of the world once more when a soft movement roused him from slumber. It was so subtle it would likely not have awoken another. But Pitch was tuned to hear the night’s every breath and whisper, and he knew when even the faintest of shadows was out of place in his realm. He sat up and was face to face with whatever had dared come upon him in his bed, ready to strike.

Jack looked up at him with wide eyes, frozen in his place. The boy had one knee resting upon the bed and his hands were clutching the top of the sheets as if to draw them back.

“Jack,” Pitch hissed. “What in the name of the moon are you doing?”

Jack merely stared at him, soon breaking into nervous laughter.

“I had a nightmare?” he offered, immediately bracing himself for reprimand.

Pitch pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily.

“What do you want?”

The boy toyed with the sheets in his hands, and refused to answer him until Pitch barked at him a second time.

“I-I just…I was wondering if I could stay with you tonight,” he stammered. “I can’t sleep.”

“And being in my bed would help this little problem?” Pitch snorted. “I don’t know how wise it is to sleep next to the Boogeyman if you want nice little dreams from the Sandman.”

Jack cast his eyes downward and twisted the sheets in his hands once more before dropping them and backing away. Pitch watched him go, fully intending to roll back over and sleep away any guilt he might have felt.

“Wait.”

Jack halted at the sound of his mentor’s voice.

“Just…just get over here,” Pitch sighed, jerking aside the sheets to make room for the other. 

Jack could not have caused any more of a tumult when he leapt in beside of him, grinning from ear to ear even when Pitch cursed him for upsetting the bed. Jack gave an apology that held not an inkling of sincerity before tugging the sheets over him. Only then did Pitch realize that he and the boy were put in the awkward situation of facing one another, and he started to turn to chase away the odd feeling it brought about. That plan fizzled to its death when Jack scooted closer and cuddled against his chest, resting his head beneath Pitch’s chin. Any way in which he moved would only remind him that Jack was closer to him than he’d been with another in a long, long time, so Pitch simply remained still, hoping Jack would pull away or fall asleep so he could roll over and scoot to the furthest end of the bed.

The boy’s breath puffed against the bare flesh of his neck each time Jack exhaled, and for the first time since Pitch could recall, he felt goosebumps begin to prickle on his skin, not in fear but…something else he could not name. Jack seemed oblivious that he was making his mentor so uncomfortable, for he only curled closer to Pitch when the other dared move.

“Can you please hold me?” Jack said quietly, just when Pitch believed he might have drifted to sleep. Pitch knew that was when he had to push Jack away, or else he might give into the irritating feelings that had been threatening to overcome him since Jack’s request earlier.

“Thank you,” said Jack when he felt Pitch’s arms encircle him. 

Pitch hugged him close, and though he damned himself for every second that passed, he did not let go. Jack melted into his embrace as if Pitch’s touch was all he’d ever needed to sooth him, and even in the dark heart of the Nightmare King, a tiny bit of affection flared when he felt Jack’s smile against his neck.

Pitch stroked Jack’s soft, white hair as he felt the boy grow more and more relaxed, knowing he was close to sleep at last. He hoped Jack did not see the way his lips curved upward when he pressed a chaste kiss against his forehead, before at last he began to near slumber himself once more.

That was, until he felt the press of cold feet against his legs. In an instant he was wide-awake and Jack was shaking the whole bed with his laughter. Pitch doubted they’d be getting a visit from the Sandman that night.


End file.
